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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984840">pull it together (the get to the good parts cut)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/readythefanons/pseuds/readythefanons'>readythefanons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the Lorenz of Doubt [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hair Pulling, Multi, friends with hair pulling is that a thing, like friends with benefits but no sex, lorenz pov, make it horny but repressed, no sex occurs but dang there's a lot of thirst, tagged multi because lorenz has a lot of crushes okay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:54:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/readythefanons/pseuds/readythefanons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonie thinks that having long hair is a liability in battle. Lorenz doubts that's a thing. She demonstrates, and neither of them was expecting <i>the moan</i>.</p><p>In which Lorenz learns something new about himself.</p><p>For the FE3H kinkmeme</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Leonie Pinelli</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the Lorenz of Doubt [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>FE3H Kink Meme</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>pull it together (the get to the good parts cut)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><a href="https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2743624#cmt2743624">Original prompt on the kinkmeme</a> OP, I hope you like it, and thank you for posting the prompt in the first place<br/>Minor language note: Lorenz uses the word whore at one point, in reference to himself</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Leonie and Lorenz had, somewhat unintentionally and certainly to both parties’ surprise, become… friends? Allies, certainly. Companions, even. Perhaps friends. Friends enough that sparring together on their free day wasn’t an entirely preposterous idea.</p><p>They were working on their unarmed combat, which neither of them excelled at. More specifically, they were taking a break between bouts, catching their breath, when It happened.</p><p>“Leonie, why do you keep your hair so short?” Lorenz asked. Leonie gave him a look. </p><p>“Our hair’s the same.” </p><p>“Not true,” Lorenz said. He went on to explain that his own hair was artfully styled in accordance with both current fashion and timeless style, whereas Leonie’s was cropped like a street waif’s coifs. “...why you opt for this style when instead, you could wear it long and flowing, like that of Mercedes or Dorothea—”</p><p>“Yeah, let me stop you there,” Leonie interrupted. She seemed irritated. “Mercedes and Dorothea are ranged fighters. I’m a close-quarter fighter. Kind of different situations.”</p><p>“Then what about Hilda?” Lorenz asked. Leonie laughed. </p><p>“I’m not running around in <i>pigtails,</i> can you imagine?” </p><p>“Please focus,” Lorenz sighed. “Why do you maintain this haircut?”</p><p>“Huh, you really are interested in the answer,” Leonie commented. Obviously. “Alright. I keep it this way because it’s more practical. Takes less time to comb, less time to wash, and it doesn’t present an extra handhold on the battlefield.”</p><p>“I doubt one’s <i>hair</i> really presents that much of a liability,” Lorenz scoffed. Leonie started to frown at him, but he held up his hands. “But okay, okay, I concede. It’s the job of a noble to guide provide counsel to commoners, but sometimes time and experience are the best teachers.” Then, in an unnoblemanly mutter, he added, “<i>Stultorum eventus magister est.</i>”  In retrospect, that was when it started to go wrong, but—well, no mortal was granted with the gift of perfect foresight. Nevertheless. </p><p>Leonie rolled her eyes and got back to her feet. “Alright, I’ve got my breath back. Ready to go again?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>He probably could—and should—have predicted what was going to happen when he insulted his friend in Old Adrestian. Leonie might not have a classical education, but she was irritatingly good at sniffing out when he was being snide.</p><p>Nevertheless, it was still something of a shock to him when, having been pinned by the girl, he felt one of her hands slide into his hair. That relatively minor surprise, of course, was entirely overshadowed by what happened when she actually pulled his hair, hard enough to pull his head back. </p><p>Lorenz was entirely unprepared for the lust that went through him like a lance. It—he—Goddess above, he’d been, that was to say. Lorenz was a healthy young man. He’d been aroused before, but there, pressed against the unforgiving ground with his equally unforgiving opponent on top of him, he—he’d never felt like <i>that.</i> The, the sound (the moan) that issued from this throat was entirely uncontrolled, and he—that is, later, burning with humiliation, he knew that he sounded like some, some baseborn, backalley whore, but in the moment all he knew was—oh, it felt so <i>good.</i> He’d never felt so intensely, dangerously good, and so surely, it wasn’t his fault that he—that he couldn’t control his own voice? Goddess forgive him.</p><p>Into the sudden, ringing silence, Leonie—still astride his back—said, “What the fuck. Lorenz?”</p><p>“Unhand me,” he ground out, voice shaking, “Now.” She scrambled off him, and he laid still for—just a moment. Humiliation was not as much of a tonic to unexpected arousal as one might hope, and even as the horrifying gravity of the situation asserted himself, he was still shaking, his body still hissing with, with unbecoming need. If she had—if she had defied him, kept her place atop him, Lorenz doubted that he would have objected. </p><p>“Did I hurt you?” she asked. Lorenz wanted to laugh sickly.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he lied, and pushed himself into a seated position. He was entirely erect, and blood seemed to crackle with energy, and all in all he was very—off balance. He drew his knees towards his chest to better disguise his—condition, and made himself look at her. </p><p>She was flushed with exertion and likely secondhand embarrassment, but she didn’t look disgusted, and she didn’t look triumphant, as one might if they’d gained an advantage on an opponent. She looked confused and surprised and—concerned.</p><p>“Sure you’re okay?” she asked, and Lorenz’s—base, material body wanted him to go to her, to pursue more of that, that sensation. “You look…” she trailed off, searching.</p><p>And then, Goddess above, her hand came up and drifted towards his head. </p><p>“What are you <i>doing?</i>” he demanded, voice cracking. She froze, hand halfway between them. Now she reddened.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said. “I was—your hair’s messed up. I was gonna fix it.” She withdrew her hand. “Sorry, Lorenz.” </p><p>“I—think nothing of it,” Lorenz managed. He ran his own hand through his still-disordered locks, firmly suppressed any sort of reaction he might have to any sort of sense memory that might be trying to enact itself. “Better now, see?” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was not better. Lorenz couldn’t shake the memory.</p><p>It wasn’t Leonie, thank the Goddess. She was a good type, but she was not only a commoner but also a commoner from Lorenz’s own territory. Any sort of assignation between them would have been wildly unethical, to say nothing of a total lack of political or economic benefit to his people and family name. Lorenz did like her company, but as a comrade and a friend. Lorenz gave (very, very private) thanks that, after The Incident, he still looked at her and saw only—Leonie. </p><p>However, Lorenz couldn’t shake the—newly gleaned knowledge about himself that had been thrust upon him. He knew that lovers tended to—embrace each other, caress each other, even, even <i>grope</i> each other, but he’d never considered that they might, willingly and with enjoyment, handle each other more roughly. He was a fool. </p><p>Now, alone in his room (and sometimes, horribly and inconveniently, when he wasn’t alone and wasn’t in his room), he couldn’t help but remember—</p><p>Lorenz debased himself only rarely, and he felt guilty when he did. This was not to say that certain thoughts did not spring unbidden to his mind, just that he tried not to indulge them. It happened mostly at night, when he was waiting for sleep to find him, and when it did he usually—he wound his hands firmly in his sheets, tried to think of, of politics, or his lessons, or the technique for brewing the perfect cup of tea—anything but, but his disobedient flesh and his body’s base desires. And mostly it worked. And sometimes, well, he drifted into dark and crowded dreams—<i>himself in some faceless lover’s arms (milky white skin and dark, flowing hair) kissing soft lips and pressing her soft body into the bed. Her hand tangling in his own hair, pulling, making him cry out. Trapped, again, by the strength of his own reaction, voice and body shaking as the hand in his hair continued to pull relentlessly. Writhing as the hand (different now, with golden brown skin and strong, square fingers) twisted in his hair. Gasping with need under sparkling green eyes and an ever-smiling mouth</i>—and woke restless and unsatisfied. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Seeing Leonie in the dining hall filled Lorenz with mortification all over again. He made himself scarce. He should have known it wouldn’t end there.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Want to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” Leonie demanded. </p><p>Lorenz, who was stopping by on his way to the library and had <i>not</i> expected to be—accosted by some lunatic classmate lying in wait in his own room—let out a very masculine noise of surprise and stumbled backwards. A fire spell was already lighting up his fingertips—he wouldn’t have hurt her, he was just surprised and acting on instinct—but Leonie reacted on instinct as well. She ducked under his guard, grabbed his dominant hand by the wrist, and slammed him against his door. Lorenz swore he felt his bones rattle.</p><p>“What the hell, Lorenz,” she demanded, face a scant few inches away.</p><p>“I should be asking you the same thing,” Lorenz objected. “Why are you in my room?” </p><p>“I was looking for you,” Leonie said, and if her slackening grip and sudden flush was anything to go by, she’d temporarily forgotten that she was <i>trespassing.</i> She didn’t let go entirely though. Goddess and all the Saints, what did the woman do in her free time, that her petite hands were so thoughtlessly strong? “If I let go, you’re not going to roast me?”</p><p>“It was a perfectly understandable reaction,” Lorenz sighed. She let go of him, took several paces back. </p><p>“Sorry,” she said. </p><p>“Forgiven,” Lorenz said with a careless flick of the wrist. He made a face and rubbed said wrist. Sweet, merciful Goddess, she had a strong grip. He hoped it wasn’t going to bruise.</p><p>“Sorry,” Leonie repeated. “Did I hurt you?”</p><p>“No,” Lorenz sighed. He stopped rubbing his wrist and ran a hand through his hair. “Why are you here?”</p><p>“You’ve been avoiding me.”</p><p>“So you broke into my quarters like some kind of common thief?” </p><p>“I wanted to talk to you.”</p><p>“Fine, here I am. Talk,” Lorenz said and leaned one hip against his desk. Leonie sat on his bed.</p><p>“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, and stopped. Lorenz waited for her to continue. “Why?”</p><p>“I have not,” he lied. Honesty and forthrightness were important traits, but there were limits.</p><p>“Yes, you have,” Leonie growled. “Is it—are you angry at me?”</p><p>“What? No,” Lorenz said, and he suddenly saw how his recent actions might have appeared from the outside. “<i>If</i> I were avoiding you, which I am not, it would probably be out of consideration for your feelings.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Leonie demanded. </p><p>“Your feelings,” Lorenz repeated. Snideness made him add, “You do have them.”</p><p>“Yes, I know I have them,” Leonie said. “What does that have to do with anything?”</p><p>“Well, possibly I thought I made you uncomfortable, and I was trying to give you some space from me,” Lorenz said. “My company is not always welcome, you see.” This had been impressed upon him on more than one occasion by Professor Eisner as well as Leonie herself. </p><p>“So you leave every time I enter a room?” Leonie asked. She still appeared nettled. Lorenz  shrugged. “Well, thanks for thinking of my feelings, I guess, but you don’t have to do that.” Lorenz felt himself relax just in time for her to add, “Spar with me this week?” </p><p>“… Fine,” Lorenz managed after a long moment. He looked at her,  trying to discern her intentions, but she looked back at him guilelessly. She was either a much more gifted liar than he’d imagined, or she was a fool. Only time would tell.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She was a fool.</p><p>Lorenz may, possibly, have been wondering, in some unworthy part of his mind, if the invitation to spar was in actuality a coded invitation to… well, he wasn’t sure, but something torrid and unseemly. This thought was so out-of-place and untoward that it “threw him off his game,” as it were, slowed his reactions and hobbled his otherwise effortless grace. And, of course, the first few times Leonie did gain  the advantage on him (his own body pressed to the ground in any of a number of uncomfortable positions, her body strategically intertwined with his to render him immobile, both of them breathing heavily) <i>the thought</i> pushed its way in and made his stomach swoop with anticipat—dread. And horror. And preemptive embarrassment. But it never happened again, and so Lorenz’s fears never came to fruition. Good. </p><p>And then one day, a considerable time after The Incident, long after Lorenz had put it behind him (except for those rare occasions when it, ah, remembered itself) Leonie brought up the topic of—of coiffure again.</p><p>“Ugh,” Leonie said. They were catching their breath between bouts, drinking water in the shade. “Time for a haircut.” She blew a breath upwards, rifling her bangs, which were indeed long enough to reach her eyes. </p><p>“I still think you should consider growing it out,” Lorenz said. “It would be more becoming.”</p><p>“We have the same haircut,” Leonie insisted yet again.</p><p>“And I am the son of a noble house,” Lorenz reminded her, “whereas you are a pretty, if rather rough-mannered, commoner girl, and there’s no reason for you to run about with a boy’s haircut.” Really, he was surprised she still hadn’t come to see things his way.</p><p>“Thank you?” Leonie said.</p><p>“If you didn’t want to let it cascade like—Lysithea,” Lorenz continued, remembering at the last moment that Leonie was likely to take offense to comparisons to Mercedes or Dorothea, “You could braid it like Ingrid, or pin it up like Marianne.” Honesty compelled him to add, “Although I must say, I do believe Marianne would be a heartbreaking sight with her hair down and combed properly.”</p><p>“Heartbreaking, huh?” Leonie smirked. Oh, dear. Oh, no. “I’ve seen her with it down. She’s very pretty. I don’t know if I’d say heartbreaking, though.”</p><p>“I don’t think—when?” Lorenz asked, which really was very—unfortunate. Mercifully, Leonie did not immediately descend on this slight miscalculation with all the predatory intent of Raphael at mealtime.</p><p>Unmercifully, she said, “I bet you spent more time thinking about hair this month than I have all year. You have a fixation.” Lorenz felt himself turn a deeply unflattering shade of red.</p><p>“...A noble pays proper mind to all aspects of one’s appearance,” he managed. Surely only his noble upbringing prevented it from coming out as a common mumble.</p><p>“Well a commoner girl likes hair that doesn’t take forever to take care of,” Leonie said. </p><p>“I’m sure it doesn’t take that much time to care for.” </p><p>“Since we have the <i>same haircut,</i> I guess neither of us will ever know,” Leonie said carelessly. She glanced at him before turning to face him entirely. “You want me to cut yours? It’s getting long too.”</p><p>“No, thank you,” Lorenz said. His cheeks burned most uncomfortably. Leonie probably cut her hair with a kitchen knife or a sharp stone.</p><p>“Seriously, it’s in your eyes, doesn’t that drive you crazy?” Leonie asked, and reached towards him. Time seemed to slow down as the scene—horribly reminiscent of The Incident, actually—played itself out. Unlike The Incident, however, Lorenz’s voice did not issue forth in a verbalization of dismay. Neither did Lorenz move to stop her. Instead, her hand came to rest in his purple locks. Queasy-uncertain-(excited)-anticipation froze him in place, and his blood quickened under her touch.</p><p>“Why is your hair so soft?” she asked. Then she, huh, she leaned over and she sniffed his head. “And why does it always smell like flowers?” She trailed her fingers though the strands. </p><p>“I use a tonic,” Lorenz said weakly. It wasn’t the same <i>overpowering</i> reaction as last time, but it he was still—his blood seemed too thin and too hot, and his body was shaken by minute tremors. “Improves the cuticle.” Goddess’s mercy, he was speaking in sentence fragments. This was dreadful.</p><p>“I have no idea what that means,” Leonie said. Her fingers were still in his hair, and they scratched gently at his scalp. He barely suppressed a shudder, and he couldn’t stop the way he leaned into the touch. </p><p>“Makes it shiny,” Lorenz managed. Goddess, he was breathless. He felt like he was suspended by a very fine filament over a yawning chasm, and any second he was liable to fall. He dared not move.</p><p>“Well it certainly works,” Leonie said from quite far away. “You have very shiny hair.”</p><p>“Mm,” Lorenz managed. Leonie’s fingers were carding through his hair, and he was almost dizzy with—waiting. Lorenz swayed into her touch. All his energies were focused on—on not making a noise, though the Goddess only knew what kind of noise would escape him at this juncture. Possibly some kind of whine, or an animalian purr.</p><p>“I think it’s almost long enough to braid,” Leonie said eventually. </p><p>“Never learned how.” His eyes were slipping closed, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to force them open. Leonie was closer than she was before, and he did not know when she had moved.</p><p>“Well you’re in luck,” Leonie said.  “I might have short hair, but I do know how to do a simple braid. Wanna see?” </p><p>“’Kay,” Lorenz breathed. Goddess, no, that was a terrible idea, but—yes, yes he did want that. It was reprehensible, he knew, but he liked the feeling of hands in his hair and did not want it to stop. He didn’t want her to braid it, he wanted her to tangle her fingers in it and <i>pull</i>, to subject him to that overwhelming sensation. </p><p>She shifted so she was sitting directly behind him and ran her fingers purposefully through his hair. Lorenz bit his lip, forced himself to breathe through his nose. Goddess, this was a terrible idea, and every part of him (save his rational mind) wanted it. She dragged her fingers through it, then divided it into sections and began the braid.</p><p>Goddess, it was—the phrase ‘exquisite torture’ presented itself. She wasn’t—it wasn’t the rough, merciless pull that haunted his fantasies, but even this businesslike touch was affecting. He clenched his hands into tight fists on his knees and forbade himself from moving. He wanted to jerk his head away, feel the strength of her grip. He wanted to beg her to grip his hair more firmly, pull more sharply. The gentleness of her hands was almost as unbearable as her previous rough treatment. Lorenz kept his eyes tightly shut and minded himself to breathe, breathe, breathe. </p><p>And then it was done. Leonie tied the end, then sat back to admire her work. </p><p>“All done,” she cheerfully. Lorenz didn’t (couldn’t) move. Leonie poked his shoulder. “Turn around so I can see.” Goddess, he was so aroused that he ached, and she wanted—fine. So be it. Lorenz turned, slowly. He knew he was flushed horribly, and he could only hope he didn’t look as dazed as he felt. Goddess, he could barely move without wanting—without jolting himself, little crackles of arousal as sharp as static sparks in winter. He turned to face her but didn’t meet her eyes. He was sure he was trembling.</p><p>“Hm,” she said, a noise of acknowledgment. She seemed neither appalled nor disgusted, although she did sound a little surprised. “Next time, let me do the crown style,” Leonie said, sketching a line across the top of Lorenz’s head. “Or maybe twin braids.”</p><p>Lorenz did not know what to make of it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She did end up cutting her hair, sometime that same afternoon. It was well enough (though unnecessarily masculine) and suited her. For reasons somewhat obscure even to himself, Lorenz decanted some of his hair tonic into a smaller jar and had it—and instructions for use—delivered to her. </p><p>She didn’t ask him about it directly, but he was pleased to observe, later, that she had clearly used it. Her hair’s luster improved dramatically, and he saw her running her hands through it on multiple occasions.</p><p>“Have you been sharing that hair tonic with the ladies of our house?” Lorenz asked. They were dining together before afternoon classes.</p><p>“Yeah. It came up in conversation,” Leonie said. “Why?”</p><p>“Our house seems to be on its way to being the best groomed by far,” Lorenz said, pleased at the notion. Leonie snorted. Marianne and Hilda entered the dining hall, and he observed the improved quality of their hair with approval.</p><p>“Does it enhance <i>Marianne’s</i> beauty?” she asked, grinning. Lorenz nodded absently.</p><p>“In truth, she needs no additional adornment for her beauty to shine through, but it certainly draws it out that even uncultured boors might notice,” Lorenz said. Woe, but he was a fool. The words tripped from his tongue with all the oblivious sincerity of a pup greeting its master. Leonie snorted again and dug into her soup. Lorenz realized what he just said. “… Your silence is conspicuous,” he accused.</p><p>“You have it so bad for that girl,” Leonie said with a fond smile. What did it say about her that she was warmest when she was overtly harrying her allies, and what did it say about him that he counted her a true friend? Alas. She popped a bit of onion into her mouth and raised her brows at him. “I saw her with her hair down again, by the way.” </p><p>“I do wish you’d stop insinuating that I have some sort of—inappropriate infatuation—” Lorenz began.</p><p>“Is it still an insinuation when I accuse you outright?” Leonie interrupted. She did that a lot. “And I didn’t say anything about inappropriate.” </p><p>“It is unseemly to mock your social superiors, and especially to taunt them with—implications that they wish to see their peers in, in states of undress and disarray—”</p><p>“Oh, wow,” Leonie said. She was grinning, the hellion. “There’s a lot to respond to there. Okay, first of all—”</p><p>“We are friends, not just noble and commoner. I know. I’m—sorry,” Lorenz apologized promptly, one hand raised to buy her silence. “I was feeling defensive.”</p><p>“Well don’t think I forgot about ‘<i>undress</i> and disarray.’” Leonie said, smiling still like an infernal demon. “She was fully clothed, for the record.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Lysithea asked, claiming a seat next to Leonie. She eyed them suspiciously. “...Am I going to want to sit somewhere else?” Ignatz was there too, and going by his red face, he had certainly heard what Leonie was just saying.</p><p>“No, no,” Leonie said, dropping the subject. The conversation drifted on. </p><p> </p><p>“Come here,” Leonie said. The professor had sent them out to gather spell components in the woods, and they were on their way back. The day was beautiful. The air was clear and crisp, and being in the forest reminded Lorenz of childhood outings in Gloucester. As the gathering of the components was not time-senstive, they were taking their time returning to the monastery. “I learned a new braid.”</p><p>“I’m no longer certain that <i>I</i> am the one with the hair fixation,” Lorenz said as dryly as he could manage while a flush overtook him. Nevertheless, he approached the place Leonie was sitting.</p><p>“<i>Marianne</i> taught me,” Leonie said. Lorenz sat a little ways in front of her, head tilted to the side and eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Oh?” Lorenz asked, and turned pinker. Leonie grinned.</p><p>“Mmhm,” she said. She scooted forward so they were sitting knee-to-knee. “This is for your bangs, so you face me.” Lorenz nodded and closed his eyes. Leonie set her hands in his hair and started the braid.</p><p>Lorenz tried to focus on the sound of the wind, the smell of the pine needles, and the feel of the sun overhead. Each gentle tug put him into more of a daze, and his mind wandered. His body’s tension seemed to be uncoiling with each touch. How odd, how unpredictable. Lorenz began to drift.</p><p>“I’m not pulling too hard, am I?” Leonie asked out of nowhere. Her voice pulled him back into his body. “Tell me if I am.”</p><p>“You’re not,” Lorenz said. Oh, he was flushed. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re tough,” Leonie teased. “You can handle it.”</p><p>“It is unbecoming to mock your social betters,” Lorenz mumbled. His eyelids were heavy. </p><p>He realized his mistake when Leonie clicked her tongue in irritation and tugged his hair sharply. </p><p>“<i>Nnn.</i>” Lorenz kept his eyes firmly shut as the—the noise escaped him. It was somewhat muffled, but. Well. Anyway. That was. Fuck. </p><p>Leonie said nothing, merely began picking apart the braid to about halfway before rebraiding it. Lorenz breathed in, breathed out. In, and out, until he felt less like there were a thousand thousand sparks trying to escape his skin.</p><p>“...Why did you do that?” The words seemed to speak themselves.</p><p>“You were being a jerk.”</p><p>“Why are you doing any of this?” Lorenz asked. He was—he didn’t even know any more. His body was shivering with, with energy. He was aroused, physically, and his breathing was faster and shallower than usual, but he felt—distant from all of that, somehow. He should feel alarmed and embarrassed and, and all number of things—horrified, exposed, uncomfortable—but instead he was just—here. The sun was shining and the air smelled of pine, and Leonie’s hand were in his hair and he was erect. As if it wasn’t shameful to be in such a state in the presence of one other than his spouse, and as if it wasn’t humiliating to have such an inappropriate reaction to something so innocuous. As if it were all benign. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Leonie said thoughtfully. “Why are you letting me?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Lorenz echoed. He was <i>not</i> expecting this to inspire her to pull his hair again, but she did. <i>Oh</i>, that really was quite—he doubted he’d have been able to contain his gasp, even if he’d been forewarned.</p><p>“...Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a sensitive scalp?” Leonie asked. </p><p>“It’s never come up before,” Lorenz managed from the depths of his haze. Oh, he was so—it felt so strange, and so good, when she did that.</p><p>“Well you do,” Leonie said. </p><p>“Noted,” Lorenz breathed. Leonie’s hands shifted, one hand coming up to tangle in the hair on the side of his head. Lorenz forced his heavy eyelids to open, saw her sharp orange eyes watching him closely. Oh, he, he didn’t quite think he liked that. To be observed, and know himself to be observed, was too—it was a lot—</p><p>He was biting his lip when she made the first pull. The sound that emerged from his throat was muffled. She pulled harder, and he gasped at the sharpness of it. She tangled her fingers roughly in his hair, and a helpless noise escaped him. Unexpectedly, she stopped. Her hands were still in his hair, but her silence was expectant.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Lorenz managed. Goddess, but he was—he was so hard, and he was breathless, and his body was humming with need. </p><p>“I already told you, I don’t know,” Leonie said, and she sounded… irritated? It was hard to concentrate. “Why are you letting me? And don’t lie this time.” Lie? Goddess, Lorenz could barely think, let along dissemble.</p><p>“I wasn’t lying. I don’t understand it myself.”</p><p>“You understand something,” Leonie insisted. </p><p>“Well, I suppose I understand <i>something,</i>” Lorenz agreed weakly. “But I don’t understand you.”</p><p>“That makes two of us,” Leonie said, and pulled again. His eyes rolled back as he moaned. She kept pulling, twisting and tugging, and Lorenz was lost in it. His—his body’s bizarre, unfathomable, unmasterable need made itself known, pushed whines and whimpers and needy, embarrassing sounds from his throat. Oh, Goddess, he—it was—he was so hard, and he wanted more even if he didn’t know what he wanted. Unbidden, inchoate fantasies pressed themselves upon him—a delicate beauty with her hands in his hair—shifting and changing even as he tried not to think of it. And as his thoughts shifted and as he fretted that he’d think of—of that—of course it happened. The unbidden image of, of<br/>
golden brown skin and a wickedly smiling mouth under cool green eyes pressed itself upon him. </p><p>“Oh, oh, <i>stop,</i> stop now,” he begged. His, he—the thought of that person’s hand twisting in his hair, of that person seeing him like—like this, so undone, so helpless was—it was unbearable. He was so hard it hurt, and if this went on for another second, he was worried he’d, he’d spill—</p><p>The hands dropped away from him entirely. It was just Lorenz, sitting, curled in on himself, frantically willing himself not to come. He, he couldn’t—but, but <i>oh</i>, he needed—</p><p>He breathed, and breathed, and no one was touching him, and there were no hands in his hair, and the stupid, unmannerly hunger consuming him lessened.</p><p>“...Lorenz?” a voice asked, and it was Leonie. Of course it was Leonie. Lorenz breathed some more, felt himself settle back into his body. She didn’t ask if he was okay, but it was in her very tone. He made sit up from where he’d been hunched over.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he said, and it didn’t feel as much of a lie as it could have.</p><p>“...Okay,” she said, and he breathed some more and felt less like he was about to be torn asunder by strange and primal forces. “Your hair’s messed up.” </p><p>Lorenz opened his eyes and gave her a look. “Is it,” he said flatly.</p><p>“Yep,” she said, and sounded inordinately cheerful. She bit her lip, then added, “Let me fix it.” Lorenz snorted and looked off to the side. He felt. Better. </p><p>“Do what you will.” </p><p>She leaned forward and gently brushed her fingers through his hair. He half-expected to—to have to ask her to stop again, but instead he felt himself settle some more. How strange. When he was sure he wasn’t going to—when he was sure, he opened his eyes just far enough to observe her. What a strange friend he had.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I already had Leonie feels, but writing this fic gave me, like, Lorenz feels to an extent I was not expecting. So many, in fact, that I'm trying out a weird thing (see series notes for details)<br/>--<br/>Edit: There is <a href="https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1298779518245588993?s=20"> fanart </a>by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneletterdiff/pseuds/oneletterdiff">oneletterdiff</a>! I AM SCREAMING<br/>--<br/>Fic recommendation: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183487/chapters/58247110">all touch corrupts (all must be corrupted) by GuiltyBystanders</a>. If you want more repressed Lorenz, here you go! Tags to heed include "angst" and "ambiguous/open ending"<br/><i>“Say, Lorenz, what exactly kind of trouble do you think a guy can get up to in the sauna?”</i></p><p>  <i>Claude’s grin turns mockingly lecherous as he leans forwards towards Lorenz conspiratorially. Lorenz keeps his eyes firmly locked above Claude. This was not the first challenge to his self-control he’s faced, and it would not be his last. He is stronger than this.</i></p><p>  <i>“What kind of a man do you think I am? And in that case, what kind of a man are you to follow me in?”</i></p><p>  <i>Or, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester struggles with Claude von Riegen, his repressed sexuality, and becoming a man worthy of his friends.</i><br/>-<br/>If you want more Lorenz but would like the poor guy to actually catch a break, check out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091575">The Gift by doop_doop</a> which is short, incredibly adorable, and deserves so much love.<br/><i>“Look, Raphael,” he said, “are you sure you want to spend most of a day collecting a flower for me just so I can have tea?”</i></p><p>  <i>“Oh, yeah, totally sure. I don’t mind at all,” Raphael said. “It’ll be good training - and if you pack a snack for me, even better!”</i></p><p>  <i>Lorenz has an extremely small, unimportant problem. So small, in fact, that he's resigned himself to live with it.</i></p><p><i>But Raphael, somehow, has the solution.</i><br/>--<br/>Comments are a delight!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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